


Sixty-Sixth Star

by systemoverride



Series: Stars [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Language because Jason, M/M, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemoverride/pseuds/systemoverride
Summary: Jason, after Dick's death.





	Sixty-Sixth Star

**Sixty-Sixth Star**

* * *

"Let's get married."  
  
For once, Jason wished Dick had answered with his usual jokes or horrendously, unfunny puns, but he was met with silence. He missed his stupid, stupid laugh, his lazy smile, those deep, alluring eyes. The whole debacle with the Crime Syndicate left Dick Grayson dead. That day, Jason's sun set and never came up again.  
  
The wordless panic when he arrived home and flipped on the television to watch the kidnapper's pull the domino off his lover's bruised face. The rage that coursed through him when Batman utterly demolished his attempt at a rescue mission and confined him in maximum security. ' _Couldn't lose another son_ ,' he'd said, ' _not after Damian.'_ Now he'd lost another, again, after Jason stormed out of the funeral and left the city.  
  
He couldn't see Bruce's face without launching himself at him, desperate to wring his throat. He'd sold his loft in the apartment. Told the landlady to toss out anything he left behind. The bed they'd shared when Dick came by to crash, the couch they'd watched those stupid chick flicks and ate take-out on, the reserved boxes of cereal, stowed carefully in the back of his pantry. Tried desperately to lose everything that reminded him of Dick.  
  
Patrols were violent. He wouldn't let criminals relish the pleasure of a quick death. He'd break them. Physically. Emotionally. Anything. When Tim showed up at his dilapidated safehouse asking for help on an off-day, he was drunk and tried to shoot him in the knee.

"He wants me to fucking what?!?"  
  
"Please," the Replacement had begged, hands up to defend himself from the chair Jason had thrown at him.  
  
He was outraged. Why? Why would he save Damian when Bruce didn't even save Dick? "I'm not fucking _helping_ that sorry piece of shit."  
  
"He didn't ask. Please, Jason. He's going crazy, he's going to get himself killed."  
  
"GET OUT!"  
  
It didn't matter what he'd said that day, because when the alcohol wore off, he gathered his equipment and left to meet the other family members. A reluctant exception. Because it's what Dick would have wanted. Because it's what Dick would have done. And, regardless of how much he grumbled or complained, he had a soft spot for that brat.  
  
So, he helped bring the kid back. And now Jason stood in the Wayne graveyard, proposing with a ring he'd intended to give when he came home the day Dick disappeared. With a pained sigh, he snapped the box shut, lovingly caressed the gravestone as if it were his partner's cheek, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could hear Damian screaming at Bruce from the Manor, utterly lost and distraught at the news of his favourite brother's death. Sounds of ' _why_ ,' ' _how could you_ ,' and ' _answer me_ ' mirroring Jason's words from a month ago. He hopped on his motorcycle, gently assuring Alfred he'd been eating well, and left.


End file.
